I have dealt with depression all of my life,
A component of OCD that seems to accompany
This illness. I have been resistant to antidepressants,
Experiencing many medications with adverse effects.
One particular one was so severe I could not get out
Of bed. Here is one experience I had when unable
To focus, grasping for one positive thing in all of
The room –
Is it a dream, it seems like
A dream? Waking with a start
I know it is not.
Opening my eyes, I am ashamed,
No one would I claim to share
This illness with, how it came
About, I could not explain.
Searching for an answer to a
Troubled mind, no peace do I
A place where no one would
Venture, no one could help, if
So they would be like friends
Reaching for my robe, with throbbing
Pain and rapid pulse, trying to stand,
A brittle soul about to break,
Falling back as slumber I once more
There is a stirring as I awake, I say a
Prayer, “my soul to take.”
Crispness of sheets brush against
My skin, a fever begins and my body
Seems to melt, sheets now wet with
The trickle of sweat.
Beginning to thirst and bereft of water,
I become hotter, beginning to falter.
The hopeful anecdote to my illness
Has provoked it instead. Another
Potion has created more mental
The walls seem empty as I stare in
Space, searching for anything to
Break the dreariness of this place.
On the left hangs a picture dismal
And grey, to the right a window,
Dressed in lavender and lace,
Hanging from a silver rod. Could
This be a gift from God?
I must see it better, slowly lifting
My head, moving my legs to the
Floor, reaching for the wall with
I pull the curtain to my side, as I cry,
“This piece of cloth I wish to hang
Above my bed.”
As I try, my arms are not high enough,
My hammer and nails strong enough,
My measure true enough.
I sit in the midst of failure and quit.
In my brokenness, something greater
Than I draws the curtain aside, and with
His rod accurate and right, drapes His
Banner of love over me in peace and